It’s a summer afternoon. The sun is really putting his back into it this time. That’s what we say each passing year: “This has been the hottest summer yet.” Today, Dad looked up some info online, like he always does, and he found out that we are still in some sort of ice age apparently. I think it’s towards the fag end of it, probably.
Having no desire to do any work, and the AC having weirdly stiffened my limbs, I’m just lying around in the room, looking out through the French windows. There seems to be some kind of summer breeze going on. I wonder how it would be to step out and giggle at the thought—just as you appear in the doorway. It’s as if you sense a change in my emotions before it happens. “I’m taking a break. Do you want to do something? Grab a lemonade and chill maybe—wink wink.” My giggle turns to a laugh. You are so cute! I say yes to a lemonade and try to get up—or feign more like—and spread my arms out, reaching for you. You jump in immediately without a second thought or question. A huge cuddle later, we head to the kitchen. My limbs seem to be functioning now.
I sit at the table in my laziness and watch you work on that classic lemonade. I remember, since the day I first met you, you always took it upon yourself to do things. You just naturally did it. Back then, I didn’t realise it was natural and so obvious. It was your house, I was a guest. But even now, all these years later, you are still the same. You don’t let me do much of the menial work. I wonder—do you still think of me as a guest? A rueful smile escapes me, and you notice with your side eye, which is always on me—listening, seeing, paying attention. “What is it now?” you feign seriousness and then grin. I grin back. “Nothing.”
The lemonade is ready. You bring out two chilled glasses to the table and ask me if I would like to sit on the balcony. You know I love balconies. I contemplate. You wait. You have work to get back to, but you wait—for me—with that eternal patience of yours. I nod and grin.
It’s hellfire outside, but we sit there looking out. You inch closer and put my head on your shoulder and your head on mine. I feel at peace, like I always have with you. I sip the delicious lemonade. You ask me if I like it. “Yup,” as always.
We sit there and chit-chat about random stuff. You tell me about some work you’re doing right now. The glasses are empty. You have to head back to work. You kiss me full on the mouth and ask me what I’m going to do. I shrug. You smile, ruffle my hair, and head inside.
I sit there in the heat for a bit more, feeling it seep in through my pores into my very being. I close my eyes. I let it burn the question out of me: “Do you still think of me as a guest?” I see your smiling face shaking your head no. I smile and head inside to make a snack for you as you work— The things to do with you.
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